Wednesday, April 29, 2015

'It's the only way to know there's not a bull stalking you ready to gore'

He'd regularly say.

'But then if there is one you'll be the first gored' I'd reply.

'Exactly, I've been gored three times on land, and once on a cruise, it's a small price to pay for knowing for sure that if you were going to be gored there's a good change it'll already have happened' he'd state.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Time to play... Wombat or Sensational Saucy Socialist Scandinavian Serendipitous Party Trick?

You put it in your mouth....

You put IT in you mouth....

One last time

YOU put 'it' in your mouth....

Kazaaaaghkhh!!! Awwww. No winners today, but we'll be back again tomorrow. Thanks for playing everyone. Thanks for watching at home. Thanks to my lovely co-host Melon. Thanks to King Jurijg. Thanks to the heavily militarized militia that stalk my subconscious. Thanks to the 17.2% of the world's population who don't know how much to tip their private scalp masseuse. Thanks to my pet Moose. Thanks to miscellaneous millisecond millepedes. Thanks to the crime reporters from the 1820s and their tireless efforts to create a still beloved system of lightening horror with great puns, such as 'Your Chances of Enjoying A Night At The Movies This Weekend Have Been SLASHED' and 'Still Happy That Front Door Locks Have Yet To Be Invented? Find Out Why That's A Brutally Stabbed In The Neck, Skinned, And Then Turned Into Lampshadingly Stupid Thing To Think, Right After This Commercial Break'. Thanks to plastic for still being the world's best substance to make plastic bags out of. Thanks to suitcases for giving us all the opportunity to slyly whisper to someone 'I'm casing this joint' with them knowing full well you may not be planning on robbing the place, but merely planning on burying it in suitcases. Thanks to elaborated practical jokes for being so darn practical, and occasionally even elaborate. Thanks to toiletries for making actual trees feel less subconscious about being what die to make toilet paper. And thanks to moonshine for being the only good thing ever made of moon rocks.

That's it from us tonight, but please join us again tomorrow for another exciting game of ... Wombat or Sensational Saucy Socialist Scandinavian Serendipitous Party Trick?

Monday, April 27, 2015

I should have known something was up when they announced that as the plane was full they'd be enforcing the two carry ons only rule we'd all agreed to at check in, and he didn't proceed to still carry onto the plane a full suitcase, three bags of shopping, two purses and a Buick. Something was up indeed. And for once it wasn't the raccoon entail soup I can't seem to remember that I do not enjoy eating.

Yep, it had happened, there was a weird force of a man on my flight, the kind of man you hear about but never dream you'll share a flight with, a man as rare as Sasquatch taking a bath, that filthy animal (Fun fact: Sasquatch's long held fear of bathes is where the term 'you filthy animal' originated), the type of man who you would totally live tweet about, if the promised Wi-Fi actually worked, because this is the type of man so rare on a plane that EVERYONE would want to read about it - yep, I got to share a flight with another human being who was NOT an epic selfish cunt.

Now calm down...

- 'That's not a real thing'

- 'Your a lying filthy animal'

- 'I've flown before, EVERYONE, is a total selfish cunt, and I like to complain about it and yet still be really selfish and cunt like myself'

- 'Yeah, ok, so he was just a demanding prick then?'

I hear you all screaming.

Well in response...

- It is real.

- Nice try on using that fun fact but 'your a lying filthy animal' is not the same as 'you filthy animal' (fun fact: 'your a lying filthy animal' originated after it was discovered that Sasquatch is scared of using the correct simple contraction of 'you' and 'are') But it does exist I tell you.

- You don't get to complain AND be a total selfish cunt, just treat other people like you'd like to be treated you dicks.

- No.

Get this - he didn't even attempt to board till his row was called, he only... wait no, I'm not going to go ahead and list all the things that make being a decent fellow traveller entail, you know that, unless you're not lucky enough to fly places like I am, sorry I didn't mean to boast, plus 'entail' that's right it's Raccoon 'Entrail' soup I like, not Raccoon Entail, no wonder my lunch hasn't been staying down. I might stop eating Raccoon soup all together till I can learn to pronounce simple middle of word Rs.

Today was the best day of my life, because I got to fly from LA to Chicago with another decent human being. Although to be honest I made him up, and I'm a little disappointed in myself that even in my imaginary world I made him a him, but I can't be bothered to go back and change his sex now. Plus, when they announced four times that they won't be allowing extra carry on baggage, why the hell did the woman with a full suitcase, three shopping bags and two purses get let on instead of crucified against the wall as a warning to other potential cunts?

Women! Am I right? (Fun fact: 'Sasquatch's long held fear of pronouncing 'women!' and then people not agreeing that he's correct about things right after pointing this out, is where the phrase 'Women! Am I right?' Originated).

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Now that I've got that off my chest it's time for us to talk about your current strong sense of dispiritness angled firmly towards the sea urchin.

Yes I know it's not angled directly towards the sea urchin, but it's close enough and I think we can stop this before its angled square on towards the sea urchin, which could be very bad, very bad indeed! Well not in any tangible way, but still, square on sounds bad.

So here's what I'm going to offer you in return for your promise to lay off the urchins:

- My thanks on behalf of the Sea Urchins.

- A card entitling you to a silent declaration of sea urchin disappointment, that you can use at anytime no questions asked.

- A slice of ham.

- A Boyz To Men tape.

- The Sea Urchins thanks on behalf of me.

- $3.27 in small change (please note: if some of this turns out to be rusty then it is STILL legal tender, and it's not my fault if your local store won't accept it).

- A kids toy that's both fun and educational (please note: how much your educationated by this toy will be at least in part dictated by how much you currently know).

- A block of cheese, a SQUARE block! So that should satisfy any 'square' lust.

- If you dye your hair a drastic color and then your roots grow out, and that contrast turns out to not be a good look for you, I'll give you at least a week to fix it before we mock you.

- A full three weeks to pay back that $3.27 I lent you, before I start charging interest, which will only be a daily minimum of $5 so nothing to worry about.

So lay off the friggin urchins you pricks. Dispirited feelings can be very dispiriting! Please note: if I miscalculated your feelings of dispirit towards sea urchins at any point in this blog them I am sorry, but if you didn't have any dispirit for me to bribe away please consider this list of generosity to unavailable to you. Oh and...

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Well patience please you fucks, that's what I was about to explain. But also thank you, because of you jumping all over me just there, showing a complete lack of faith in my well known decree to never ever mention a magic plastic bag with no intention of telling you in what way it was magic, that's not who I am man, but you have inadvertently highlighted to me that yes it 'was' a magic plastic bag, but it also 'IS', cause this bag is so magic that no one has even chucked it out. And cheap plastic grocery bags get chucked out all the fucking time.

'How the fuck was it magic?' I hear you ask. Well calm the fuck down.

It's size was .... Regular.

It's color was .... Regular!

It's shape was ...... REGULAR!

Well that's magic right there. Consistency is tough. Try being consistent on the golf course for example. It's difficult.

'That's hardly fucking magic?' I hear you exclaiming. Well just to be consistent in these responses - shit the fuck up. (I meant to say 'shut' but spelled it wrong and now 'shit the fuck up is my new favorite term).

- Groceries sat in it with a delicate elegance that made even microwave Mac n Cheese feel important.

- When bums concealed their booze in it to drink at bus stops, they rarely pissed their pants, and only occasionally told old ladies that they had a giraffe climbing out of their ear.

- It once held a wet t-shirt from the beach in the trunk of a car for six weeks and when it was discovered it didn't smell like a wet dead dog! (Only a wet maimed dog).

- Matt Damon's character in Goodwill Hunting was based on its theory that using grocery bags for garbage bags takes scientific knowledge of a variety of sizes of typical kitchen garbage cans.

- It supported an expanding exploration of space experience.

- Oh and it WAS the plastic bag in American Beauty. It got picked after a exhaustive auditioning process. I mean you try and find a plastic bag that can dance in the wind on demand!

Yes, and I know, I have being using past tense. For you see it's retired now. To the rock n roll hall of fame. Well to be completely accurate it's knotted up inside a dead rock stars colon, after he ate it, knowing that every food item it had carried had been delicious, and he's being kept frozen in the hall's basement, in hope doctors may one day find a cure to having six completely melted vital internal organs, after he drank a bottle of drain fluid, knowing that every toilet it had gone done now flushed deliciously, they're hoping if he can come back alive he'll one day explain how he made G chords on the guitar sound so damn G.

But I choose to not care if that wonderful G is ever heard again, no I have more romantic thoughts, the kind of romance that only exists when magic is present, yep instead just once more I'd like to get drunk at a bus stop without a goddman giraffe climbing out my ear!

I know what you're thinking - your current best friend sucks. They're flakey, unreliable, sometimes say racist jokes in private that you laugh at, at the time, but you are a tad concerned that there is some truth behind what on the surface is merely enjoying the fact that with close friends you can be taboo just to be taboo, they don't like playing board games with you, board games like 'Taboo', and sometimes they're even undependable.

Well I'm here to tell you that they don't need to be your best friend anymore, and your new best friend may be closer than you think! Please consider all these reasons why a toothbrush could be your new best friend:

- Out of guilt you'll stop eating so much popcorn covered in overcooked chewy beef.

- It'll never call you late at night to complain about its mother.

- They come in a variety of colors.

- Need to 'brush' up on your French? It won't help but it will help others deal with your frog breath.

- Not only are they not flakey but they can aid in the removal of flakes.

- They PREFER if you've never won a plaque.

- They don't judge you if you sometimes have thoughts about how monkey sweat probably will ultimately never replace breakfast cereal as the preferred breakfast of 47.8% of western diners.

- Someone calling you 'soft'? Now you can say 'it's only cause I'm copying my best friend'.

- Same thing if people have been cruelly calling you 'medium'.

- They rarely breathe fire in your face.

- It'll come in handy if you're ever in prison and forced to clean the mess hall with a toothbrush.

- They're slightly better than a toilet brush! Well at least in three ways.

1. Rarely in the toilet.

2. Regularly in your mouth.

3. Way better conversationalist.

- And finally, obvious one, but still - their racist jokes will be so damn funny it'll be impossible NOT to forgive any underlying true feelings.

So why not give your current best friend a call right now and tell them they suck balls, and are racist pieces of shit, then go tell your toothbrush 'you're not going in my mouth tonight, instead let's go play an exciting game of taboo'.

Friday, April 24, 2015

Today is the best day of my life people, and I'll tell you why - there are certain things in life... in fact, just to detour slightly, I think life is MOSLTY made up of things, sometimes people even say things like 'if it's not one thing it's another' which just proves my theory, that just about anything that is something to you is a thing and together those things make up EVERYTHING. There really should be a word that encapsulates all that.

Which brings me to a new theory - there are certain things in life where the thing you want isn't one of the things that are available to you, and the things that are available are not necessarily the things that would be your first choice of things, which means sometimes you just have to play:

THINGS I'D RATHER DO THAN OTHER THINGS!

- I'd rather pretend to be a bulldog that's uncontrollably incensed in its anger, so much so that it's barking is out of control, it's teeth exposed, it's rabidness so intense that observers are sure it's been possessed by the devil all overflowing with a twenty hour growling tirade towards Mt Fuji... Than eat Mt Fuji.

- I'd rather go into major debt, including selling my beloved rare

Oatmeal Cookie recipe collection, and sinking it all into opening a store that is dedicated, and steadfastly stubborn it it's unwavering commitment to selling nothing but pure, unsullied, direct from the factory dolls of the third lead character of the barely seen pilot for the ill-thought-out or researched cartoon from the nineteen eighties based on the board game 'Mouse Hunt', leading to having to deal with endless questions, including but not limited to - 'why'd you open this store', 'did this show even really exist?' and 'do you ever get in any Star Wars figures?' .... Than eat an Oatmeal Cookie.

- I'd rather go to Saturn... Than eat Jupiter.

Yep, sometimes in life there are things we'd like to do, but those things aren't available to us, and of the things that are available to us, sometimes we have to decide upon a thing that may not be appealing, but is at least better than one other thing. That's when we play:

THINGS I'D RATHER DO THAN OTHER THINGS!

I recommend playing yourself at home, unless there is a thing you'd RATHER do, in which case, congratulations - you've already played!

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

In these crazy modern times, with all its crazy modern conveniences, crazy modern obstacles, crazy modern approach to human relations and crazy modern alternatives to traditional methods of persuading your average lost and frightened fruit bat to eat the fruit in your neighbors yard instead of your own, there is one thing you can be sure about - your life is crazy! No wait, there are two things you can be sure about - your life is crazy, and your life is modern!

Consider these facts:

1. Toasters.

2. Pot-Holes.

3. Friends With Benefits.

4. High Frequency Ultrasonic Sound Expellers.

That was a list of crazy modern elements that affect your current life, representing the following categories:

A. Crazy Modern Convenience.

B. Crazy Modern Obstacle.

C. Crazy Approach To Human Relations.

D. Crazy Modern Alternatives To Traditional Methods Of Persuading Your Average Lost And Frightened Fruit Bat To Eat The Fruit In Your Neighbors Yard Instead Of Your Own.

Can you match the number with its correct corresponding letter? Surprisingly 92.67% of people quizzed get this wrong. I'll give you just a minute or two to think about it.

Ok, here are the correct answers.

A. Matches with number 2. Pot-holes mean roads, roads mean cars, cars mean the ability to drive to your local science and gadget store which is full of the most brand new modern technology around, like spiders encased in glass, balls that if you touch make an beam of electricity come off your finger, and change sorters.

B. Of course matches with 4. You're trying to escape prison, your plan is flawless, except for that loud supersonic ear piercing noise the alarm expels, that's an obstacle and a half.

C. Obviously this one is 1. Toasters are obviously the hip relationship trend among kids, and a little seedy and sorted if you ask me, where you only kiss someone if they had toast for breakfast. Stop trying to grow up so fast kids, enjoy Fruit-Loops while you can!

D. Leaves us with 3. A friend, who comes with the benefit of being able to guilt trip into standing in your yard with a broom scaring fruit bats off your citrus trees, and into your neighbors banana trees.

If you failed that test then it's quite clear the craziness and modernness of your life has gotten crazily out of control, in a really modern way.

But fear not. That why I am starting a new workshop to get you back to the raw place your body and soul THOUGHT it had evolved to be at, a time before ANYTHING was modern, and craziness was merely a barely touched excel spreadsheet on Einstein's MacBookPro.

Welcome to HowlShop. A workshop where I'll teach you to howl the way you're supposed to, the way your ancestors on the Mayflower, First Fleet, St Augustian, Rugghlet or other very famous migratory ships did.

I offer you this very, very exciting and very important guarantee - you'll turn your current:

'hoooooowwwwwlll'

Into a:

'HHOOOOOOOOWWWWLLLL'

Or your money back!

Ok, I've just been informed that by mushing the words Howl and Workshop into one word 'HowlShop' I have used a crazy modern convenience, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I have failed you all. Sorry.

Oh fuck, I've also just been informed that failure is a crazy modern obstacle. Shit.

I feel like a scared and frightened fruit bat, who wants to come hit me with a broom?

I'm just going to say it - It's not ok to be gregarious just anywhere you know!

And yes, I know you like being gregarious. It's part of who you are. It's the real you, at least in those moments, and no, I'm not suggesting for a minute that you're ONLY gregarious, but it is part of you. A wonderful part of you.

At dinner parties, go for it. That's a perfect place to be gregarious. It's almost a requirement at dinner parties. If there wasn't any gregarity in the room the party would descend in to a pantomime of cold silence, before giving way to inhospitably or possibly even mild passive aggressiveness. No one wants that, believe me.

I was once at a dinner party when the HOST was passive aggressive. Yes the host. It turned the serving of the mash potatoes from what would normally be one of the highlight of the whole food serving portion of the evening from being an haphazardness spooning of inconsistently random glory into something perhaps a tad awkward. And I'll just be harsh for a second, but I saw a guest later on that evening miming out a representation of the slight aggression they had witnessed in the spoonful lumped onto her husbands plate - in a mocking way!

So, I'm definitely not saying don't be gregarious at dinner parties. Please BE gregarious at those. I'd hate to see you mocked with mocking mime one day.

Not that you hold a monopoly on being gregarious either. If we're at a dinner party together we should BOTH be gregarious. That's only logical, polite and fair. And gregarity should always be distributed with the entire parties happiness taken into account.

I'll be honest with you, you know the Georgians? You know how I say 'let's not invite them places, they aren't very gregarious' - well, yeah, ok I'll just say it - Candice is very gregarious, it's only Jeremy who isn't. And yet I've been giving them the same label. That's life motherfuckers. You form a couple then you get lumped in with the social graces, skills and failings of the whole package.

I'd hate for either of us to suffer from wagging ears, and blushing souls caused by the other one of us lacking, or indeed exceeding our natural quota of any number of potential uses of social etiquette in regards to a whole manner of charms, gregarity being just one of them.

Look, fuck, I said I'd just say it, and I will - your gregariousness sometimes comes off as mere chummy familiarity!

Oh my god, it feels good to get that out. What a relief. Like a lifted weight. My god, I'd let that build up inside me for months, and now that it's out we can deal with it, accept it and move on.

So that was it. Thanks.

Oh and everyone knows you blew Donald in the laundry, we were watching on the security monitors, but no one cared, we're just not judgmental people.

Monday, April 20, 2015

'Before there can be light there must be darkness and before that there bust be light and before this light there must be even more darkness but before that chunks of cheese cake' She said. Upon the stone of revelation.

So the legend was true, the stone did engender revelations. Great revelations! Revelations that revealed great truths. Truths about cheese cake for example.

I had to try it myself. So I waited patiently for my turn. Hours passed. Long hours. For this was the stone of revelation, it didn't feel right to fuck around on my phone while waiting. And besides my phone was low on battery. Too many apps left on I think. Or maybe it's just time to update my phone. You know they purposely make your battery not last but not be swappable so you'll do that. It's really wasteful. Although you can recycle your old phone, but I never do, so I'm no better than the corporations who make them.

Finally it was my turn. But I let a couple of people pass. I'd been struck, am I wasteful? I hardly ever boil my KFC bones to make soup, one time I used a girls name three times in one sentence but then when I ran into her again a few years later I couldn't remember her name, and another time I went to Disneyland and there were a couple of rides I couldn't be bothered to wait in line for because they were kids rides, maybe I AM wasteful.

My turn came up once more, but I obviously needed more time to ponder this. I saw a man wearing a t-shirt once that bore the slogan 'Haste Not Waste' and then underneath, in smaller print to clearly indicate lesser importance it said 'that rhymes so you know it's smart'. At the time of seeing this I didn't think too much about it, because of the smaller print and all, but now it Struck me - 'Telephone Battery' rhymes with 'Fella Lone Hattery' - Guys with no friends that have turned their living room into a hat making studio often like chicken soup when they are sick with the flu - girls don't like it when you forget their names - therefore you don't impregnate them resulting in kids forcing you to wait in line for certain rides at Disneyland!

It all made sense. Too much sense, almost as though I'd forced my examples to fit the theory I was trying to prove retroactively with clever connection grabbing. But that's silly, that would undermine the entire philosophical journey towards discovery I had found myself on. And I wanted to overmine this shit, mine it all the way to revelation!

I let a few more people pass. I'd forgotten what I was even in line for, I was too focused on engendering a revelation. But I was lost. I'd hit a dead-end. I even tried to use retroactive connection grabbing, but the best I could come up with was discovering that you can overuse apps, you can overwear caps but you can't put a cap on an app, unless it's a financial cap, which would be a good idea if you have kids with access to smartphones, but no one has kids anymore because of the name forgetting thing.

It was futile. The track had led to a river without a bridge, and no lifeguard so swimming would be too dangerous. Ah man. Fuck! I never get to have a fucking revelation. These are fucking hard. I'm just a man for fuck's sake. There should be like a rock or something that makes it easier. Damn it. Boo! Its not fair. How come everyone but me gets revelations? And how come everyone but me gets delicious chunks of cheese cake?

Sunday, April 19, 2015

If absolutely everything on earth had to come with a warning label I think the mold that's festering under my fridge would come with the warning 'Unreliable Arbitrator'.

The modern world is a tricky place to navigate. There are all manner of obstacles to overcome, and when obstacles are involved disagreements arise. Remember obstacle course races as a kid? Yep, there was always like one section that benefited kids with different skill sets than your own. It was utter bullshit! 'I'm not tall, you fucker, how is the climb the wall section fucking fair, I'm going to burn this whole fucking local church kids in need charity mock Olympics event to the fucking ground!' You'd be forced to scream.

Next thing you know, just a couple of days later you're brought in front of an adult 'Kyle here says that you left him severely physically disfigured with third-degree burns covering much of his body and that his tongue has a really painful spot that for some reason he can't stop raking over his teeth no matter how much it hurts, and that you were the one that started the fire?'

And you're all like 'Well if he was the 'best' at obstacle courses as his blue ribbon apparently proved, how come he couldn't navigate his way out of the fire? And also if his hot chocolate got so heated up its not my fault he still sipped it?'

Then he'll be all like 'you didn't have to tie me to a chair in a locked closet'.

And you'll be all like 'someone who apparently is the 'best' at obstacle courses shouldn't blame the course he was given'.

Then he'll be like 'I hate you'.

And you'll be all like 'you really can't sell that emotion now that you have no eyebrows.... or ears!'

And the next thing you know, for some unknown reason, an argument starts, and an arbitrator is brought in.

Well the mold that's festering under my fridge would be unreliable at this. Because mold is both untrustworthy and unpredictable! Those are unreliable traits. Hence the warning label.

Ps. Do you own anything as valuable as my festering fridge mold? If so what warning labels do you think they should carry?

PPs. It turns out it was actually the mold that started the fire and you were just covering for it, so no need to feel guilty about that burned guy, I mean what kind of a stuck-up, rub it in prick wears a 'best at the obstacle course' blue ribbon on a hospital gown anyway?

Friday, April 17, 2015

Like think of 'acid rain'. Sounds awfully awful. But if you look at the reality of it, it turns out that the truth is that acid rain is merely poison falling from the sky killing everything and anything on the surface of the earth, both animal and plant, and yet fertilizing mole people plans to finally open a disco.

But because of a accusatory label we barely even notice this horribly delightful truth. Mole people... at a disco! They'll be dancing! There may be hula hoops! There will be nothing to eat, as all the plant and animal life is dead, so they'll have to take appetite suppressing supplements like speed and quaaludes! There may even be Jive talkin'! That's freaking adorable.

But we fear acid rain because of Labels man. Labels.

I bet I could come up with a label right now that, and because it's a label it will automatically be damaging.

Ready.

Acid Fog.

Ok, so it will also most likely merely be a delightful rolling grounded highly toxic cloud that kills all the surface animal and plant life, strips skin of all its natural glow and melts eye-balls. But it is bound to also fertilize the mole people's desire to embrace pop-art.

Mole people... with bright colors! Where'd they even find the paint? The adorable questions are practically endless!

But we'll never see it. Because of labels man. Labels. Oh and/ or because we'll be dead and/ or have had our eyes melt out because of highly poisonous weather systems. Labels man, labels. I fucken' hate labels.

I like to think that if I'd been named after Ivan the Terrible that my name would now be 'Ivan'.

Or maybe even 'The'!

Or possibly even 'Terrible'!

Because that's how that naming people after people shit works.

With insights like this how can you resist the temptation to join my new GANG, woah, wait up, before you say 'I don't want to be in a gang' check back over what you just read. I didn't say 'gang' - I said 'GANG'.

That's:

Group

Assembled to

Negate other

Groups

Group being a congregation of three or more people.

Assembled being the fact we're all hanging out, shooting the shit, drowning some beers, and sharing some laughs.

Negate being how we slaughter others with brutal, brutal murder.

And then group, once again being a congregation of three or more people.

Yep, it's not a gang, it's a GANG, and it's every bit as good as it sounds.

Consider this - Siberia was conquered in the fourteenth century with just 540 soldiers. If we related that to modern times, and adjust for inflation, that would bring the total cost of taking over to Siberia to zero dollars, because soldiers weren't paid back then, so you can times it by a million and it's still free, therefore if our GANG can recruit just 539 more members Siberia could be ours, and with it all manner of awesome things such as:

- Being able to say 'there's nothing for as far as the eye can see'.

- Being able to prove that with a mere wave of the hand, suggesting people look where you're waving them to, and having them find that the area you've drawn there gaze to has nothing as far as the eye can see.

- The ability to punish someone by banishing them to Siberia.

And then consider this - By conquering Siberia, many of our future enemies and people who wish us ill will, will be Siberian, and therefore transportation costs per banishment will be very cost effective.

It's the very definition of a win win.

Nope, I wasn't named after Ivan the terrible, but I'm not letting that stop me, my reign is about to begin.

But consider this - if I had been named after Ivan the Terrible I never would have developed the insight I used to first recruit you to my GANG, the very thing I'm going to use to conquer Siberia.

I think the lesson is clear - don't try and emulate other people please people! It's only with unique insight that you too will find your unique and original destiny.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

I was in the shambles, locked into the muddled lack of clarity which is to walk with the uncharitably steadfast folk of the sun-dried tomato lovers.

Relentless they were about their passion.

To be dried was an honorable and committed willingness to be altered. To accept a concentrated effort toward the experience enhancing power of dehydration. Something that is only achievable or even possible in a post moist existence. Moist, moist, moist, not to stay, but as mere lillypad on the hop across the stream. Although streams and dryness do not have a whole lot in common, so perhaps saying a mere sandal in the journey from flip flops to covered shoes would be a more apt metaphor. Depending if you're from a country that calls them 'flip-flops' or 'thongs'. Plus you wear those to the beach, damn it, more wetness.

Yet dryness is no where near the whole story. To be sunned was to bask in the literal glow of the very giver of life to all creatures and living beings, organisms and bacterial outbreaks of existence on the spinning stone we call home, and to honor man's most important and greatest achievement, the discovery of the sun. The very thing people used to think was a mere practical joke born from a god hellbent on testing willpower to not look at and yet ability to notice freakishly huge things of unquestionably and unstoppably powerful reality living in spheres of relentless heat that are in the sky. But of course the sun turned out to be a little more than that. You know, UVs, or something. Plus the beings that literally birth other beings also play a part in giving life. Yet the sun remains natures most natural giver of life, because how can you be natural if you're not part of nature? Artificially dried - no please.

Although again that wasn't the whole story. There is still a third important ingredient to this tale of committed broke gone for and arrived at execution, we still of course must isolate the lost penguin in then Antarctic, which is the tomato. Because it's good on pizza, which has cheese, which is yum. You can't just sun-dry anything and be happy. Sun-dried warthog rectum is only good with tabasco, for example. Where as sun-dried tomato can be pared with a whole spectrum of hot sauces.

Also the Antarctic is ice right? Damn more moisture. Please don't think these metaphors soaked in wetness are in anyway disparage or minimize my recognition that dryness is key to these peoples belief system.

Yes the sun-dried tomato lovers were insistently tirelessly passionate people. And I was tasked with walking with them.

Or so I thought. Turns out we just happened to be walking the same way for a few blocks. Life sure is an adventure man.

Monday, April 13, 2015

I'm at a carwash right now, having my car washed by experts, because I'm not an expert.

Oh and lazy. Really lazy. Especially when it comes to huge physical ordeals like washing a car.

Did you know sometimes when you wash a car you end up getting your feet wet which can be rather uncomfortable, sometimes REALLY uncomfortable? And discomfort can lead you on the fast track to unpleasantness, sometimes SERIOUS unpleasantness? At least until they dry out or you change your socks? So yeah, leave the car washing to the pros people! Don't try and be a hero.

Speaking of heroes, something super heroic just happened to me. I was sitting here and one of the staff came to give me my keys back, only he had mistakenly thought a different car was mine - he assumed that the huge outback jungle faring pick up truck utility ute was mine!

This thing has a big flat back part, which is designed for moving and shifting things, sometimes relatively big things. Things that can only be moved or shifted by this vehicle if someone lifts them both in and eventually out of the flat bit. Which would take muscles.

This thing also has one of those big plastic snorkels attached, which I assume is because the vehicle is a fan of snorkeling, which often puts you face to face with all sorts of scary sea life, and possibly even creek life, which occasionally has mud!

This behemoth is also rather large. Which says out loud 'I'm not a small car chosen specifically to make parking, negotiating small spaces, and stuff like staying in the same lane easier, therefore my owner isn't scared of those things'.

Plus it has a back seat, which says 'I have friends, possibly even a family!'

And a tow ball thing, for towing shit, boats? Teenage boys standing on garbage can lids holding onto a flimsy rope? Oh and rails, which are for, um, railing against injustice?

And the guy thought it was mine! Wow, its probably the manliest thing I've ever achieved.

But nope, I'm the tiny little hatchback you asked three ladies about before sheepishly asking if it was mine. It might not be manly, but I'll tell you this, when I'm in a lane, I'm frequently within that lane for almost all the time I'm trying to be!

Alright, I think my car is nearly done, now for the real challenge, there are puddles out there people, can I get in without getting my socks wet? Time for some mother fucking heroics.

My life was in danger, grave, grave danger. Like a leaf in the wind, only in a
really gravely dangerous way.

Which is very different from graveyely dangerous. Which is when you're in grave
danger of running out of gravy. Which can be horrific, but not as bad as this
situation I'm talking about where my life was in danger. Which had absolutely
nothing to do with gravy.

I was sure I was to be dead in any moment. But then an angel appeared,
ironically out of a gravy boat filled with gravy, even though outside of that
this story has nothing to do with gravy.

'There is only one solution - a single way to save your life' declared the
angel 'and it requires you to know your windmill is spinning at the exact speed
you desire it to be'.

'What?' I responded.

But it was too late; the seemingly cryptically unhelpful angel had disappeared
back into the gravy in the gravy boat, which of course is completely
unimportant to this story.

Angry, frustrated and terrified for my life I lashed out and hurled the gravy
boat at the wall, where it exploded into the wall spectacularly sending gravy
boat bits, and even gravy, all over fucking everything, although that's not at
all important to the story.

But then, as the gravy began to drip and roll down the wall, something
remarkable happened, in what could only possibly be described as a completely random
slight coincidence, the gravy mess spelled out a few words on the wall. They
were as follows:

- If your windmill is spinning so damn fast that the blades are a blur, and
because you didn’t see them you stuck your hand in and had it got chopped off,
but you weren’t sure what it was that cut your hand off, so you leaned in to
try to hear if a poltergeist was there somewhere and had your left cheek and
nose chopped off, and then you lost your girlfriend. Not because she was
chopped up in the blades, but because she was superficial and doesn’t want to
date a one hand, one cheek, no nosed freak, then your windmill might not be
spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

- If your windmill is currently half way to Peru having been swept up in a
tornado, and the tornado is on its way to Peru, and because, you know, tornados
always have cows spinning in them, and so there’s a good chance you have a cow
caught up in your windmill blades, then your windmill might not be spinning at
the exact same speed you desire it to be.

- If when you bought your windmill, if you were in a store somewhere, and you
saw this sweet windmill for sale, which seemed to satisfy all your wildest
windmill wishes and yearnings, only when you looked at the price tag it seemed
too cheap, so you asked the cashier why it was so cheap, and he looked you dead
in the eye and said ‘because that windmill is CURSED! CURSED TO NOT BE A
RELIABLE SPINNER, CURSED I TELL YOU, YE HE YE HE, YE HE YE’ and even though his
cackling cry was eerie and evil sounding, his eyes held a warm sad truthfulness
to them, then your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you
desire it to be.

- If you've been fighting with your windmill over what to temperature to set
your living room air-conditioning thermostat at, and you got your way, but you
know your windmill to often be petty and vindictive when it loses an argument,
your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to
be.

- If your windmill is not spinning at
all, but you’d like it to be spinning, then your windmill might not be spinning
at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

Despite the fifth one not making any sense, I now knew how to tell if my
windmill was not spinning at the exact same speed as I desired it to be, and my
life was saved! Saved like a leaf in the wind, only in a really safely safe
way. And I think that's the important part of this story. Leaves man! Soooo
useful.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Sometimes you wake up from an epic
dream where underwater missiles the size of sky scrappers have been launched
against nations across the world, land soldiers are already on the ground
shooting people, the entire internet has been erased and worst of all, in pet
stores, due to rising import costs brought on by the enormous war that's just
begun, the brooms cost $370 - each. Each!

And when you say 'let me see that' and pick one up, you knock the whole supply
over and are suddenly paying for all sorts of scratched up brooms which means
you can’t afford to buy one of the many cute kittens they have swimming in the
fish tanks.

What smell should I invent next?

About Me

Hi I'm David Tieck, an author/comedian/artist from Sydney, Australia. This is my blog. I use it as an outlet for my peculiar mind. Come on in and feel free to add to the lovely absurdity in anyway that you are so inspired.